Heart-break
by sherlock-holmes971
Summary: John gets a call from the hospital telling him Sherlock has been badly injured on a case and has life threatening injuries. Their friendship grows as John begins to learn how much he really needs Sherlock, and he finds out the reason Sherlock got injured in the first place and realises Sherlock loves John as much as John loves Sherlock. Set before Reichenbach Fall. Friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, this my first fanfiction, it's about Sherlock and John's friendship and what they mean to each other. No Johnlock yet but maybe I'll add some later on if I think it fits but this is mainly about their friendship. I hope you enjoy it and I'm welcome to suggestions for later chapters and I'd really appreciate some feedback. Enjoy!**

In the past few years, John had grown accustomed to Sherlock's addiction to danger and habit of putting himself in potentially harmful situations. Gradually it became apparent to John that no matter how many times Sherlock put himself in harm's way, nothing tragic would ever happen and believed his immunity to injury to be long term luck. So you can imagine his shock and horror when he got the phone call.

He'd been enjoying a quiet Saturday morning, watching rubbish TV with a cup of tea in one hand and a paper in the other, sitting on his chair. Sherlock had left late last night and told John not to bother waiting up for him as he had a case that he doubted he would finish before dawn. John was tired from getting back late from work and hadn't bothered to even ask what case it was or what it contained, all he could think about was a quiet evening by himself with no Sherlock disturbances. As the morning reached 11 o'clock John glanced at his phone, surprised to find no texts or calls from Sherlock letting him know where he was, or if he needed any help. Deciding to dial Sherlock's number, John got up to put his now empty mug into the sink when his phone started to ring. Hesitant at first, John frowned as he searched his brain to recognise the number but found nothing. He realised he was being paranoid for nothing and answered the call.

"Hello?" John questioned, walking over to the sink, "Sherlock is this you? You've been gone ages where-"

"Is that Dr Watson speaking?" a voice interrupted.

John didn't recognise the voice. "Yes?" he answered, confused.

"Hello this is Nurse Ranson from St Bartholomew's hospital and I'm afraid I have some bad news. Earlier today your friend and roommate Mr Sherlock Holmes was admitted to our hospital with severe injuries and he was been asking for you-"

"What?" John gasped, "How did this happened, what's exactly wrong with him?" He started panicking and noticed a weight in his chest causing him to struggle with his breathing. _Calm down _he told himself _you need to calm down._

"Unfortunately I don't know details Dr Watson you'll have to come down and speak to one of his doctors" The nurse replied sympathetically.

"I'll be right there" John said, ending the call. He grabbed his coat, his keys and headed to the door when suddenly he stopped. It was as if he couldn't move his legs from the shock. Horrible thoughts were chasing round his head, knawing at his sanity and he was overwhelmed with concern for his infuriating, yet, best friend. Guilt flooded his mind of the glee he had felt the previous night for having an evening to himself, if John had insisted to accompany Sherlock then perhaps he wouldn't now be lying in a hospital bed with his life hanging in the balance. _All my fault, all my fault, all my fault._

When the cab reached the hospital John had finally managed to calm himself down. To be honest he wasn't aware of how strong his feelings were towards Sherlock until the moment that his death was possible, and John had decided that he was never, ever going to let that happen. He tried to picture gazing over to the kitchen and not seeing Sherlock staring into a microscope, or not being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night on a last minute case and it just wasn't possible. Sherlock had become too big a part in John's life, and to lose him would be to lose a part of himself, and to lose a part of himself would be to not have a life at all.

John ran up the hospital stairs faster than he even thought he could run, and found the reception desk. Catching his breath he nearly shouted the name in pure desperation.

"Sher-Sherlock Holmes" he gasped at the woman who looked very startled indeed. "Please I need to see him right away"

"Ah yes sir one moment," she slowly began to type at her computer while John tapped his fingers impatiently. Was there no way she could type any faster? Eventually John's anxiety got the better of him.

"SHERLOCK BLOODY HOLMES!" He shouted, "Please I need to see-"

"Dr Watson!" a voice shouted behind him. He turned round sharply and saw a man with light brown hair wearing scrubs and a stethoscope wrapped around his neck. He extended his arm out to John and John shook it quickly.

"Sorry for the wait I'm Dr Rhodes, Mr Holmes' doctor, if you follow me I can show you up to his room" he smiled. John agreed and left with him after glaring at the receptionist in anger. He wondered if Mycroft had been told about his brother's accident and if that's the reason Sherlock was in a private room, or if it had just been due to the severity of his injuries. John knew Sherlock wouldn't want Mycroft poking his nose into his affairs but since John was no relative of his, the hospital would have insisted.

"Right in here Dr Watson" Dr Rhodes gestured, interrupting John's thoughts. Through the transparent door John could see Sherlock's lifeless body sleeping on the bed, with numerous wires hooked up to him connected to machines beeping. For someone so robotic, the artificial heartbeat fitted Sherlock perfectly, yet when John looked at his face he saw that despite his occasional beliefs, Sherlock was human. Humans get damaged, and he looked more damaged than ever.

"Oh God" John muttered closing his eyes and putting a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, sorry just seeing him like that-"

"I understand the difficulty Dr Watson, really I do" Dr Rhodes sighed, "shall we go in so I can explain everything to you?"

John breathed deeply and nodded. He pushed the door forcefully open and went over to the side of Sherlock's bed, and sat down. Sherlock's face had a black eye and John could see blue and purple all around his neck and arms. The gleam in his eyes was choked by his pale lids like lungs struggling for breath, and he seemed so empty for a man so full. Every few seconds his fingers would twitch as if part of Sherlock's mind was bleeding through and John knew he felt his presence- he just knew it. He carefully wrapped his hands around Sherlock's not wanting to disturb the fearsome wires forced into his skin. Closing his eyes, John held up Sherlock's hand to his face and kissed it lightly, wanting to attempt to comfort his friend and get him through this difficult time. John had needed Sherlock since the day they met, but now it was time that Sherlock needed John.

"So tell me what happened." John whispered softly to Dr Rhodes.

Coughing, the doctor sat in the chair on the other side of Sherlock and flicked briefly through his notes before making eye contact with John.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly how he got the injuries, you'll have to ask the police since they're the ones that found him and have been working on the case." He began "but I assume that they found him whilst attempting to solve the case Mr Holmes was working on at the time. When he arrived there was a deep wound to his stomach which we've managed to patch up the best we can, but the bruises, you must have realised also, indicated he had been badly beaten and he has suffered mass internal bleeding that we've stopped for now, but there is a risk they could start again. Minor scratches were found on the body but stitched up, blood loss is our main concern. Mr Holmes will be very weak when he wakes and it's important that he rests to allow himself to heal as quickly as possible. Also his chest will be sore as he broke a couple of ribs."

John stared at Dr Rhodes in shock. Someone _did _this to him? _His _Sherlock?

"I'll kill them" he whispered, "I need to talk to the police, I need to know who this was and why they did this to him"

Just as Dr Rhodes opened his mouth to answer, Mycroft strode through the door was a grim look on his face. He was wearing a black suit and his hair was slightly ruffled. His hands were empty due to the absence of his umbrella, and John realised why. Mycroft must have been in such a hurry to get to Sherlock, he hadn't even stopped to pick it up. John stood up to shake Mycroft's hand, and offered him his chair. Mycroft graciously accept and muttered a small 'thank you' before turning his attention back to his brother. Doctor Rhodes stood up to leave, indicating to John that Mycroft already knew all the details of Sherlock's injuries, and he must have just been speaking to the police.

"So how did this happen?" John demanded. Mycroft let out a deep sigh before looking at John rather morbidly.

"I have pieces of information from both the police and Sherlock-"

"Wait, _Sherlock _was able to tell you what happened?" John questioned.

"When I first arrived he was conscious and told me everything he could. It wasn't the police that found Sherlock, it was me John." Mycroft said stiffly. John was confused.

"How did you know where he was? Even I didn't know" John asked.

"He rang me"

"And he didn't ring-"

"John." Mycroft interrupted. "I swear I will tell you all I know but you can't keep asking questions, I need to start from the beginning"

John slumped back into his seat, taking Sherlock's hand once again. "Ok" he answered. "Tell me"

"Yesterday evening a letter came through the letterbox for you. Whoever sent it believed you to be in the flat but-"

"But I was late from work" John whispered. "So Sherlock opened it?"

Mycroft looked annoyed at John's second interruption, but didn't say anything. "Yes, you know he has that habit of opening things that don't belong to him and his curiosity got the better of him again. Anyway, he opened it and was shocked at the message." Just then Mycroft pulled out a crumpled bit of paper from his jacket, gently splattered with blood.

"Did Sherlock give that to you?" asked John. Mycroft nodded and read it out.

"_Dear Dr Watson a.k.a Sherlock's lapdog,_

_I've grown tired of lurking in the shadows Dr Watson_, _it's time I came out to play again. I want to have some fun. And you Sir- unfortunately for you- are my game for today. Meet me in the alleyway off Northumberland Street ALONE, at dawn or I swear I will kill your precious Sherlock at the earliest opportunity, and everyone else you hold most dear. And if you tell anyone about this the same will happen, and believe me, I will know if you do._

_Lots of love your friendly buddy, JM"_

John couldn't believe it. If the note had been sent to him, why had Sherlock gone and not told John anything about it? Before he could ask, Mycroft continued.

"Sherlock spent the rest of the evening alone trying to decide what to do, when eventually he came to the conclusion that Moriarty was going to either hurt or kill you and so he went and took your place and offer his life in exchange for yours. Just before dawn I got a call from him telling me a location and hinting there may be a lead for Moriarty there, but when I arrived Sherlock was lying in a pool of his own blood with a hooded figure above him. My men ran after him but we've had no sign of him since. That's when Sherlock told me everything and I rang the ambulance." Mycroft finished.

"Then if the hooded figure wasn't Moriarty who was he?" John questioned.

"My guess is that Moriarty sent him to fetch you in as a hostage to attract Sherlock's attention. But when Sherlock turned up his new orders were to just kill him" Mycroft shrugged.

John felt his eyes sting with tears. He gazed down at his broken friend and couldn't help think that he was to blame for all of this. Sherlock had nearly died, trying to protect John.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey thanks for reading my fic, here is chapter 2! I hope it's okay and I plan to update every Tuesday but if I finish a chapter before then I will post it early. I took in the advice of the first reviewer and have decided to not include any romantic Johnlock, but I will instead focus on their friendship. There are so many fanfics that focus so much on the romantic relationship that the strong bonds the two characters share seem less important when they're just friends. I want to show that friendship can also mean love, just a different sort, but just as strong. Please review or I'll have no feedback for the next chapter and it'll take longer to write and therefore longer to release! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

"You can't blame yourself John" Mycroft said, attempting to comfort John as his head drooped in sorrow.

John didn't answer; he was trying to hold back tears by scrunching his eyes up tightly- not wanting Mycroft to see of course. Understanding what John was trying to do, Mycroft stood up, coughed, and walked towards the door. He placed his hand on the cold silver handle and stopped for a moment.

"I'll leave you two alone" Mycroft muttered. Pulling the door open, he walked out the door and John swore he saw Mycroft gently wipe his eyes as if tears had spilt. John then turned his attention back to his fallen friend and finally let loose his emotions. He no longer cared about what people thought and began to sob violently to himself. God, if Sherlock woke now he'd never hear the end of this. That arrogant bastard would be teasing John for years, but John wouldn't care as long as he did wake up and live to see those years ahead.

"Wake up Sherlock," John whispered, "please do this for me"

Nothing happened. John stared into the lids of his unconscious friend but they did not open. Nothing. Hope drained out of John like water leaked from a tap. Just as John once again hung his head, the door re-opened and a nurse walked in smiling sadly as she gazed at Sherlock's inanimate body, then to John.

"Hello Dr Watson, my name's Isabelle Culpa" the nurse said, "I was wondering if you wanted me to fetch you a coffee as I didn't think you wanted to leave Mr Holmes' side"

John smiled back at her, she had long wavy dark brown hair that fell down to her lower back and very pale skin which highlighted her immensely dark brown, nearly black, eyes which were beautifully framed by her curled eye-lashes. Her lips were a soft pink which matched the exact colour of her flawlessly painted nails which John could see as her clutched a clipboard to her chest. John had actually been quite thirsty, but distracted under the horrific circumstances- but now a coffee seemed just what he needed.

"That's very kind of you Miss Culpa, if you really don't mind I'll have it black with no sugar thank you" John said, getting a couple of pounds out his pocket. He handed it to her and she pocketed it before once again holding out her hand to shake John's.

"It's nice to meet you" Isabelle said.

"Nice to meet you too Miss Culpa"

"Isabelle, Dr Watson- or is John okay?" she asked.

John nodded and turned his attention back to Sherlock. Isabelle understood John needed to be left alone with him and slowly walked towards the door once again. Just before she was about to open it, she turned to John again.

"Can I just tell you how sorry I am John that this has happened to you." she stated. "I know this is hard for you and I hope your friend gets better as soon as possible"

John sniffed back some more tears as he saw his eyesight begin to blur. He closed his eyes to stop the flow, muttered a 'much appreciated' and put his head into his hands. Isabelle gave him a sympathetic look and quickly exited to fetch John his coffee. John thought he'd enjoy the peace and quiet but instead it felt threatening, like this is what it would always be from now on and he'd never be able to utter another word to his best friend- John was determined to prove that wrong. It felt so strange, and he doubted that Sherlock would be able to hear him, but he began to talk.

"Hey um Sherlock" John began, trying to sound as natural as he could. "I just wanted to say thanks I guess for what you did for me. That was brave. Like, really bloody brave. And I'll love you forever, Sherlock, for that. I never knew that you'd become so important to me, you're the best friend anyone could ever have no matter what dicks like Anderson think or say. You are the best but I wish you hadn't done this. You see, you did this to protect me from harm, and I get that, but you getting yourself hurt _because _of me breaks my heart and I will never _ever _forgive myself if you don't wake up. Maybe you think you don't have to bother trying to wake up because you think everyone hates you but honestly, the people who do love you love you so much that it doesn't matter about the number of people in my opinion-isn't one diamond worth over a thousand rocks? I'd give up everything for you, and I wish there was a way I could sacrifice myself for you but there's not- it's all up to you. So please wake up Sherlock, for me. For your best friend who frankly can't live without you. You've saved me once today, now please do it again." John finished and one tear managed to slip from his eye. He thought about leaving the room for a minute, maybe just to chase up his coffee Isabelle had gone to get but remembered when he got shot in Afghanistan, and how he woke up in hospital alone with no-one by his side and how lonely he felt. He wouldn't do that to Sherlock. He was determined to be by his friend's bed the moment he awakens.

"One coffee as ordered" Isabelle smiled walking in the room and handing John the cup. John took it graciously and took a sip. His cool body quickly adjusted to the heat- it was just what he needed. Isabelle reached into her pocket and slipped a few coins into John's free left hand.

"Change from the machine" she explained, then bent over Sherlock's bed and concentrated on his machines.

"No change" she sighed almost apologetically. John nodded and acted grateful for the update but couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed when people treated him as an ignorant relative, even though he was in fact a doctor. He admitted he is not used to a hospital environment since he was a GP, but he didn't need everything explained to him as though he had no clue what was going on. He knew that Sherlock needed to wake up as it meant his body was healing well, and getting out the hole he had dug his way into. The sooner he woke, the faster his recovery would start.

"Right I best be off, lots of work to do" called Isabelle on her way out.

"Thanks for the coffee!" John called after her. She gave a quick thumbs up and sped off. Just as John was about to start talking to Sherlock again, someone walked through the door again.

"Can I just have a minute please" John growled, not bothering to turn around to see who it was.

"Well hello to you too" replied the familiar voice. John span around and saw Lestrade staring back at him. He looked tired, with dark bags under his drooping eyes. John knew this was difficult for him as he too cared about Sherlock despite everyone's opinions of him, but it wasn't clear whether Greg was in this room as a Detective Inspector or a friend.

"Sorry Greg" John apologised, rubbing his face in his palms, "just been a bit difficult ya know?"

"I completely understand John don't worry" Greg said sympathetically, "I couldn't believe it when I found out"

"That makes two of us"

"Well I took the case obviously"

"Is that why you're here?"

"Well," Lestrade started "Partly. I do need to ask you some questions but I came here to see how Sherlock was doing"

_Hear that Sherlock? _John thought to himself. _I'm not the only one._

"He's in a bad way; we won't be able to know if he'll make a full recovery unless he wakes up" John said.

"So he's not been awake at all?" Lestrade asked.

John shrugged, "not that I've seen but I know he was conscious earlier because I was told he was asking for me, that's when they rang me"

"And Mycroft said he was conscious straight after the attack?"

John nodded, "that's how Mycroft knew what had happened"

Lestrade strolled over to John and bent down next to him. He placed a hand onto John's shoulder and sighed. "I know everything Mycroft knows John, and I know you'll be blaming yourself, but it wasn't your fault. Sherlock would have got hurt either way, whether you'd have got the note or not. Sherlock knew that and he picked this path because it meant only one of you would end up here"

"But this hurts Greg" John whispered "this hurts more than any injury anyone could inflict on me. I need him, he's my best friend"

Lestrade knew that John deeply cared about Sherlock, but he'd never expressed it to him in such emotive words. It proved that what John said was true, this stab hurt more than any physical wound ever could.

"Right I'm sorry John now for the formal part" Lestrade said awkwardly and sat down pulling out a notepad and pen from his jacket. John averted his eyes from Sherlock and switched his attention to the questions Lestrade was about to ask- if they helped find Sherlock's attacker then he'd do his best to help.

"Firstly, was Sherlock acting strangely when you got back from work?" Lestrade asked.

John tried to think back. "Umm, well he was sitting in his chair hardly moving when I got in, didn't say a word then half an hour later he walked out the door"

"With no explanation as to where he was going or why?"

"I called out 'where are you going?' and he replied simply with 'I have a case, don't wait up I doubt I'll finish before dawn' then walked out. Weird behaviour in any other circumstance, but it's Sherlock. He's always like that when he's working, it felt relatively normal" John shrugged.

Lestrade briefly jotted down some of John's words. "What about in the morning? Did you wonder why Sherlock wasn't back?"

"Well I was watching for a bit after checking his room, but he wasn't back. I wasn't worried, sometimes he doesn't come home for days on a case but he usually texts me so I checked my phone but there was nothing. At around umm 11? Yes it was 11 o'clock and I was about to ring Sherlock to check where he was and that's when the hospital rang" John replied.

"Okay. Has anything strange happened to you in the last few days?"

John shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind right now but I'll let you know if I remember anything"

Lestrade reviewed his notes and sighed. "Well there's nothing here that really helps us to be honest but I didn't really expect you to know anything anyway, but formalities ya know? If this doesn't get solved soon then I may have to take you to the station and question you properly but I don't think there's anything you know that could be useful to us."

John was disappointed he couldn't be of any help and felt a rush of anger at the masked attacker who'd gotten away so easily. Suddenly Lestrade's phone began to ring. He answered at and mouthed 'sorry' to John and left.

Around five minutes later, just as John had finished his now cold coffee, Lestrade entered again followed by Mycroft.

"We've had some news John" said Lestrade, "we think we've found the man who posted the note. You normally get back from work at around half past five is that right?"

John nodded, eager to hear the new information. Was this a lead to finding the person who had done this?

"Well the note must have been posted before then so you'd have found it on your doorstep when you got in, but only just before or Sherlock would have noticed it. Neighbours said they saw your road's postman walking down the street at around five o'clock, but their post normally is delivered at 11 in the morning. They assumed that he had forgotten a letter but we have him at the station now for questioning" Lestrade finished.

John's heart beat faster. "So could he have done it?" he asked excitedly.

"I don't think so John. Apparently he was terrified when he was asked to come down to the station, nearly had a panic attack. My guess is that he was threatened into posting the note so that whoever was sent to meet you, their identity would remain hidden"

"J-John?" a hoarse voice whispered behind them. Mycroft, Lestrade and John all whipped their heads round at the same time.

Sherlock had woken up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey thank you for all the reviews, favourites and follows I have with this story! I've just managed to finish this chapter to post it on Tuesday like I said I would, and now I will post a chapter every week on Tuesdays. My aim is to post each chapter between 8:00pm-9:00pm in UK time and I would appreciate reviews please as it's my first fic so I need to know what I'd doing right, what I'm doing wrong and ideas of what people would like to happen next. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter and where I've taken the story!**

John accidently let out a small cry of joy as he saw Sherlock's body twitch and move. He was like a puppet someone had stored away for years, and only just beginning to learn once again how to control his limbs with ease- Sherlock was acting clumsy and disorientated, his eyes blinking and scrunching continuously. When focused, they darted around; wide with fear, until they met John's and softened. Although happy to see Sherlock awake and eager to ask him questions, Lestrade and Mycroft smiled at Sherlock and left the room, knowing he's want a moment alone with John. John could hardly believe it. He walked stiffly over to the bed, beaming and crying at the same time and carefully wrapped his arms around Sherlock. Surprised, Sherlock found the strength to hug John back.

"Don't you ever, _ever _do that to me again" John whispered, still squeezing Sherlock as gently as he could.

"You know why I had to John" Sherlock wheezed, still feeling dizzy. "He was going to hurt you"

John pulled away to let Sherlock lie back down and sat back in the chair. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fine" said Sherlock.

"Liar" John laughed weakly, "it must hurt like hell"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I meant now I know you're okay, I feel fine- better than fine really. I don't care how much this hurts; it's _your_ safety I care about John, not mine"

John blinked. He always knew Sherlock cared about him more than he let on, but to hear him admit it so easily was alien to John's ears. Sherlock never discussed emotions, and never had acted so human. He liked it. "Wow. You've never sounded so sentimental in your life" John said.

"Well I'm probably on a lot of medication," Sherlock replied. "Don't get used to it"

"I'll have to start slipping something in your tea from now on" John chuckled, and lit up at the sight of Sherlock's smile. Suddenly Isabelle opened the door looking at her feet and humming to herself, then looked up and gasped at the sight of Sherlock sitting up. Something dropped to the ground and John realised she'd come to bring him another coffee. The liquid spilt over the floor and Isabelle's foot was drenched. She hissed at the pain of the burn and John rushed to her aid, grabbing a towel from the side of the room and starting to mop up her foot and the floor.

"It's fine" Isabelle insisted, "I can do it"

John ignored her and continued while Sherlock stared at them, deep in thought. Something was bothering him and the drugs in his system were interrupting his puzzled mind. He scrunched his eyes up in concentration and clutched his hands around his head, squeezing a little too tight in desperation.

"Sherlock?" John said, he'd noticed his friend's current position and thought something was wrong. "Sherlock, are you ok?"

"Fine" muttered Sherlock, "just thinking"

Isabelle had managed to clear up most of the mess and went over to check over Sherlock. She asked him how long he'd been awake. John answered around 10 minutes at the most.

"You should be resting" Isabelle stated. "You shouldn't keep him talking John"

John opened his mouth to apologise but Sherlock interrupted, not opening his eyes or removing his hands from his head. "No. I am perfectly fine- go"

"I must insist-" she tried but Sherlock just shot her a look of annoyance and pointed to the door. Isabelle crossed her arms and didn't move, which only angered Sherlock more.

"Do you want me to go and get the doctors?" Sherlock smiled. Isabelle looked scared and worried and hurried out the room leaving a confused John and a happy Sherlock behind. John didn't know what that was all about, but he was annoyed at Sherlock's rudeness, especially since Isabelle had been so kind.

"What did you do that for?" John muttered. "There was no need to shove her out like that; she was kind to both of us and she didn't deserve to be treated like that!"

"Nurse, is she?" Sherlock asked, bemused.

"Yes" John answered and Sherlock laughed quietly to himself. John couldn't understand any of Sherlock's behaviour. He put it down to the shock of the attack and the drugs that he was attached to but then again, he was like this a lot wasn't he? He was such a changeable person that it was sometimes difficult to tell when something was bothering him, which is exactly why Sherlock was lying in the hospital in the first place if you thought about it. If John had just noticed Sherlock wasn't himself then maybe none of this would have happened, but things were looking up now Sherlock was awake and John was hopeful he would make a full recovery and would be back to the infuriating person John loved so much.

"What's her full name?" Sherlock asked, seeming to be uninterested.

John searched his mind to try and remember, "Isabelle Cul- Culpa? Yes that's it. Isabelle Culpa"

This seemed to drive Sherlock over the edge, laughing so hysterically that he ended up coughing furiously. "What's so funny?" John snapped, now assuming Sherlock's sanity was compromised.

"You need to brush up on your Latin John" Sherlock smiled, "Just promise you'll stay away from her"

"Sherlock do you know anyt-"

Mycroft marched through the door, though lingering in the doorway, wearing a scary frown. "John I need to speak to you" he said grimly. His stance was strong and he hardly seemed to notice his brother's recovery, but John knew he cared much deeper than he let on.

"Just give us five minutes please" John said, but Mycroft shook his head.

"Now"

"Mycroft I'm in the middle of a-"

"John, please" pleaded Mycroft. "Just a few minutes, it's important"

John sighed heavily and turned to Sherlock with an apologetic look. "Sorry Sherlock, will you be okay on your own?"

"Yes go" Sherlock said blankly, "You're distracting me anyway give me some peace"

_Oh good_ John thought sarcastically _he's back to his old self._ Then he walked past Mycroft and out the door. He kept wondering what Sherlock had meant in his hostility towards Isabelle, but Mycroft's face gave away that something else was happening. They made their way through the hospital, through the busy corridors that were packed with doctors, nurses, patients, relatives and other staff when John noticed a face he recognised.

"Doctor Rhodes!" John called and the man looked up from his clipboard and looked around until he met John's eyes.

"Ah Doctor Watson, I'm just on my way to see Sherlock"

"He's woken up" John replied, "He seems okay for now but please look after him"

"Of course" Doctor Rhodes said, and Mycroft leaned into him and began to whisper in his ear. When the gentle muttering had ceased Doctor Rhodes nodded grimly and almost ran down to the room Sherlock was in.

"What did you say to him?" asked John curiously, he keep feeling like everyone else knew something he didn't and he was fed up of being treated like a grieving child. John knew people were taking it easy with him because he was emotionally unstable at the present moment due to the attack on Sherlock, but he had recovered and John was certain things were looking up- so what was going on? Eventually they reached an empty room and Mycroft gestured John to enter. The door was heavy and once opened, he noticed Lestrade sitting on a chair looking worried about something that was still unknown to John. He sat next to Lestrade and waited for an explanation once Mycroft too was seated.

"As you know" Mycroft started "Moriarty was responsible for Sherlock's attack and the attempt to draw you to him. Word has obviously reached him that Sherlock is here and not dead, as many of his men have been seen around the hospital. It's only a matter of time until they complete what they came here to do- to kill Sherlock"

John was shocked. "Have you thought this through?" John asked "You're meant to be a genius Mycroft and you've left Sherlock _alone _in a room with no protection where all an assassin would have to do is pull a few tubes out a machine? What a bloody great plan Mycroft, well done you!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the sarcastic comment but continued "If Moriarty knew you were aware of his men they would be ordered to kill you too. Someone has put a camera in the room and would have seen me tell you if we'd have stayed there. It doesn't reach the doorway so he wouldn't have seen me ask you to leave"

"Sound?"

"None" Mycroft replied "The webcam is too basic; someone put it there in a hurry. I told Doctor Rhodes to lock the door when examining him and not to leave him alone at any time. He's perfectly safe but we need to get him moved as soon as he's strong enough. DI Lestrade and I are going to discuss a plan of action now go back to Sherlock and let him know what's happening, but please be careful- the camera is still running and Moriarty still thinks his men are hidden. It must remain that way."

"Got it. Where are we moving Sherlock to?"

"I'm afraid only Mycroft and I can know that" Lestrade said, finally speaking. He'd been nervous about the whole thing. He felt like Sherlock's life was now in his hands and if they failed to protect him Moriarty would surely have his wish. All those times Sherlock had helped Lestrade on his cases, now it was time to repay the favour.

"Just don't go back to Baker Street John" Mycroft warned, "They'll have men there I'm sure of it"

"But Mrs Hudson-" John protested.

"I sent her to her sisters as soon as I learnt of Sherlock's recovery" Mycroft reassured, "She'll be safe I promise you, Moriarty isn't interested in her. Now go, keep your head down and return to Sherlock. You mustn't let anyone think anything is wrong"

"Besides my best friend being close to death and in hospital?" said John quietly.

"Yes John, besides that" Mycroft smiled sadly. "Now go"

John got up wearily and walked out the room, dizzy from the news he had just received. All that time he had thought everything was going to be okay, when Sherlock's attack had just been the beginning of a far worse chain of events. John cursed himself for being so blind; _of course Moriarty wasn't going to just leave them alone! _He just hoped his blindness wasn't going to cost Sherlock his life. For the second time in one day, he felt that pain of guilt that would hang over him forever if Sherlock died because of him…

John went down the corridor cautiously but as quickly as possible without it looking too suspicious, or attention drawing. He was careful to not to gaze at anyone in case they were one of Moriarty's men, and he wasn't a good actor and didn't want to give away he knew they were there. John would have to play ignorant to the fact that anything was wrong. He needed to wear his smile like a mask, hiding his feelings of worry, pain and fear that Moriarty would dare take a part of his life after all. As he reached closer to the room he saw no swarm of people. It seemed that they were trying to guard the area as well as the room, which involved clearing anyone suspected of being in league with Moriarty, but in a subtle way. It certainly would give away Sherlock's location if numbers of policemen in uniform stood guard outside the room, and Moriarty wouldn't hesitate to kill each and every one of them to get to his prize.

John reached the room, and pulled on the handle, the door swung open. If John's brain hadn't have been so distracted, he'd have noticed the absence of the lock sooner. He entered the room to greet Sherlock, but his eyes were closed, obviously sleeping. A nurse stood over him and the long brown hair gave it away that is was obviously Isabelle. She must have come to check his vitals.

"He okay?" John asked.

Isabelle spun round, startled by John's presence. "Oh God John sorry, you startled me! Yes he's just sleeping-"

"Where's Doctor Rhodes?" John asked, "Is he around?"

Isabelle shook her head, "No sorry John he went home, family emergency or something"

John knew something was wrong, "How long ago?" he asked.

"Half an hour" Isabelle replied. John moved closer to her.

"You're lying" he said calmly, and he noticed the red specks on her hands. Blood. Isabelle saw his gaze drop to her hands and reached into her jacket to reveal a gun and pointed it firmly at John's head. John didn't react.

"You lying bitch" he snarled "do you even work here?"

"Course not" she grinned "but I enjoyed watching you snivelling at the thought of your precious Sherlock's death"

John was angry, "If you're going to kill me, do it now" he said.

"I don't want to kill _you _Doctor Watson" Isabelle smiled deviously. She turned her head at Sherlock. "_Him_ on the other hand…" and pointed the gun at Sherlock's sleeping body.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed, followed and favourite! I'm a couple of minutes late with this chapter but I've been frantically trying to get it done. Originally I was gonna delay posting it because I've been so busy lately but luckily I've found the time to finish it off. Please please review because I find feedback really helpful and please let me know what you think and what you would like to happen. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Instinctively, John dashed to Sherlock's side and pressed his forehead against the gun.

"Don't hurt him" John trembled, trying to stay firm. It was time for him to repay the favour for Sherlock's sacrifice to him- and even face to face with death he wasn't scared. Actually, he was scared, but only at the thought of Isabelle hurting Sherlock once John was disposed of.

"Get out the way" Isabelle sighed, "Why do you insist in making it so difficult?"

"Because you know that I'd do anything to save him Isabelle, _anything" _John cried_. "_You can stop this! Just leave and I swear I won't say a word. You can go, run from Moriarty- you don't have to do everything he tells you"

Isabelle laughed, "You think he _forced _me into doing this? Oh no Doctor Watson, I serve him out of choice"

"Why?" John whispered; hope fading faster than a star burns and dies. His light was going out.

Isabelle, hand still firmly on the gun, moved in closer to him and placed her pink lips to his ear. "Same reason as you stay with Sherlock John" she whispered "Because I like it…"

She leaned back out and smiled, a cruel black smile and John knew that nothing he could say would convince her to spare either life. Some souls were so corrupted that one descended they would never be caught, never be saved. John no longer cared what happened to him, he just needed to know that Sherlock would be unharmed once his life had ended.

"So what do you want?" asked John flatly.

"Want?" Isabelle asked, "I _want _to kill you both-"

"No" John said plainly.

"No? I have a gun pointed to your head John"

"You underestimate me Miss Culpa" John spat "If you wanted us dead you'd have killed us by now instead of playing your stupid little games"

Isabelle leaned in once again "Maybe I just enjoy dragging it out, watching you squeal for your precious little Sherlock"

"No again" sighed John "You see, there are police all over this hospital that will have you arrested if you're caught. And you can't risk that as they could torture you and eventually get slithers of information about your _precious little _boss. If you were here to kill us, you'd do it quickly"

"Clever little John" Isabelle purred "You're right, I'm not just here to kill you- I need you to come with me"

"There's no way I'm going with you" John laughed. Isabelle raised her eyebrows and grinned, then she moved her gun away from John's head, and pointed it at Sherlock once again.

"Not even now?" she asked innocently. John's smile dropped.

"Got you now haven't I?" Isabelle giggled "I know you Doctor Watson, you'd do anything to protect him so let's not waste time on you trying to find a way out, because I promise you, there isn't one"

"You bitch" John snarled.

"I'm getting impatient" she sighed "Coming or not?"

"Moriarty wouldn't be happy if you shot him dead" John glared "You wouldn't want to upset him would you?" John had begun to stall for time until someone got here to stop this, but there was some truth in his words. He didn't believe Moriarty wanted his game to end in such a boring manner; surely Isabelle had been given strict orders to keep them both alive? However her unfading smile made him feel somewhat uneasy.

"Maybe you're right John" Isabelle shrugged, "Or maybe you're not" And she re-aimed her gun and pulled the trigger. Isabelle had shot Sherlock's left leg and the shock caused him to snap out of his heavy sleep and cry out in pain- so much pain that the drugs attached had no effect on masking it.

"No!" John shouted and he felt his legs collapse. He took a deep breath to try and get of rid the tears beginning to fill his eyes. "Fine" he whispered "Fine please please no more. I'll go with you just don't hurt him anymore"

Isabelle knelt down next to John. "You're pathetic" she taunted. "Get up now, someone will have heard that scream and we need to move quickly"

John attempted to stand, but his legs were still shaking. Irritated, Isabelle grabbed his arm and hauled him up, obviously concerned at the possibility of being caught. She dragged him to the door and opened it, looking left and right before putting a finger to her lips at John in a threatening manner.

"Act normal and shut up" she hissed "One word or signal to anyone and I will personally make sure Sherlock is killed in the worst way imaginable. Follow me."

"Where are we going?" John asked quietly.

"Classified information" she said, and led him out. They weaved through the corridors, eyes down, making no eye contact with anyone. John had this sense of dead welling up inside him, and he knew he wouldn't ever leave the place Isabelle was leading him to. Is this how Sherlock felt on his way to replace John's fate yesterday? He couldn't stand knowing Sherlock had felt this way for him.

Eventually they reached the hospital car park and a black car pulled up to where John and Isabelle were standing. Isabelle opened the car door and gestured for John to enter. Just as he ducked his head to get in, Isabelle pulled out her gun and hit John hard on the head with it and he fell down immediately.

"Sorry John but we can't risk you knowing where we're going" she said, and began tying John's hands and feet together with thick rope, and gagging him with a thin strip of white cloth. She hauled him into the car and slammed the door and climbed into the front seat. The driver wore a black cap and sunglasses and was in a black suit.

"Drive" Isabelle ordered. The driver nodded and started the car and they drove off just as a tall black figure ran up to them shouting out for John. Mycroft cursed as the car faded into the distance, and reached into his pocket for his mobile.

John's vision was distorted as his eyes began to slowly open. Questions blared up in his mind, where was he? Was Sherlock okay? Was he still with Isabelle? How long had he been out?" He tried to move but he realised his hands and feet were tied together and was frustrated. He called out but only a muffled squeal escaped his lips since his speech was being blocked by the gag around his face. John saw only darkness around him. He tried to stay still to try and listen to anything that was going on, but it was silence. An eerie silence that scared him. Pain was spreading though his head and John felt a drip fall down onto his face which he assumed was blood from the impact of Isabelle's hit when he had been knocked out. Defeat. All John felt was defeat. He'd let Sherlock down before, and knew that he deserved everything that was coming for him. Just as John closed his eyes to sleep, a light flickered on and a door opened.

"Not looking your best John…" the voice taunted, "but then again, you've not exactly been having a lot of fun lately"

John's eyes snapped open and squinted at the bright light. He recognised the voice immediately, even though he'd only heard it once before. He'd expected Moriarty to make an appearance sooner or later since he was behind all the past events. John wanted to reply, but the gag was still not allowing him to. Knowing this, Moriarty crept over to him and smiled in his face.

"Miss me?" he grinned. John just glared back at him, not wanting to give Moriarty the satisfaction.

"Two days John" Moriarty called, beginning to stroll around him, "You've been asleep for two days- boring John. Can't have fun when you do that…" He pulled out a phone from his pocket and pointed it at John.

"Smile!" Moriarty said gleefully, and took a photo. He shoved the phone in John's face to show him.

"This will make Sherlock squeal won't it John?" Moriarty giggled, sending the photo. "Seeing his damsel in distress all tied up in this room, alone and starving? That'll make him suffer won't it?"

Although John couldn't say anything back, he was calling Moriarty every foul word he knew and was boiling with anger.

"You should have seen him at the hospital Jim" another voice laughed, "never seen anyone act so soppy in their life" The figure strolled up to John, who tried to edge away, and cut his gag with a pair of scissors and took it away. As John saw Isabelle next to him he spat in her face. Furious, she kicked him hard with her knee high boots and John cried out and coughed. She looked significantly different out of her nurse uniform. She now wore a short black pencil skirt tight around her legs with a red blouse tucked into it. Her lips were now a bright red rather than a pale pink and her brown hair was brushed through and looked more polished than before. She walked over to Moriarty whilst wiping her face clean and leaned on his shoulder.

"So whatcha gonna do with him Jim?" Isabelle asked in a slow whisper. John saw Moriarty turn to her and grin, eyes wide open with glee. He took a long breath and answered.

"We're gonna have some fun"

Meanwhile, Mycroft, still at the hospital, was dialling numbers frantically on his phone next to Sherlock. He'd been recovering well enough, but the shot in his leg meant he couldn't walk very far without stumbling to the floor and crying out in pain. Mycroft had ordered him to rest, and Sherlock reluctantly was relying on his big brother to bring John back to him. Suddenly Sherlock's mobile, on the bedside table, beeped. Reflexes still good; Sherlock seized the phone before Mycroft could and unlocked it before opening the text. Sherlock took one look and gasped, looking away instantly. His hand shook causing him to drop the phone onto the hard hospital floor. Sherlock buried his face in his hands and Mycroft picked up the phone. The text consisted of a picture of John, head bleeding, mouth gagged and hands and feet tied.

"We'll find him Sherlock" Mycroft muttered, putting the phone back down.

Sherlock uncovered his face and shot a look of anger towards his brother.

"You've had two days and still have no idea where to begin" Sherlock hissed.

"Well can you ring that number back?" Mycroft suggested "We can trace the call"

"It's John's number" Sherlock said quietly "And they'd have shielded it- nothing to trace"

"We will find him-"

"You keep saying that!" Sherlock shouted "We have to find him right now or Moriarty will torture him to death. It's all my fault and I need to fix-"

"It's not your fault Sherlock" Mycroft said in the closest to a comforting tone that he could muster. "You aren't to blame for any of this"

"You don't understand, I am"

"Sherlock-"

"You're not listening to me! I knew that woman was working for Moriarty! I could have stopped her ever taking John" Sherlock screamed.

Mycroft looked shocked "You knew her? And you didn't say anything?"

Sherlock shook his head "She's the one who attacked me. I didn't recognise her at first but I was certain later on. I didn't tell anyone because I was trying to be clever. I wanted to trick her into giving me information about where Moriarty was, so I didn't expose her straightaway. I thought she was after me I didn't think she was actually here to get John-" Sherlock began to break down, and it was the first time since childhood that Mycroft had seen him cry and reveal he wasn't as stone-hearted as he always tried to make out.

"Well if you're going to help clean up this mess you're gonna have to pull yourself together" stated Mycroft. "Remember what I told you once? Caring is not an advantage Sherlock"

"You're wrong" said Sherlock. "You and I have both been wrong all this time. I admit I don't care about any of my clients when I'm on cases, solving murders, catching thieves. And it's never slowed me down because it wasn't about them; it was about the work and having something to do. Now is not about the work. For once in my life, I have a case I wish I didn't have to solve. Because this is about John, Mycroft and I admit I care about him a lot. He's my friend- my best friend- and I swear that whoever has him right now will regret the day they were ever born. Because nothing, _nothing, _is going to get in my way until I have him back home, unharmed and safe. You got that?"

Mycroft nodded solemnly.

"Good" smiled Sherlock "Now let's get to work"


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm really sorry for not updating last week, my older sister has left for New Zealand for 6 months travelling and so it's been a bit hectic and I need to see her off and stuff. Also school has been quite intense as we had mocks and stuff blah blah blah. Anyway thanks for the reviews and follows and favourites and I hope you enjoy this chapter! I'll say it again as I do every week, please review as I really want to know opinions, what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong etc so please review! Hope you enjoy it and I'll try and get next week's chapter up on time.**

After being left alone for what John believed to be a couple of hours, he wondered how long he had left to live and how painful his last moments of life would be. His stomach was rumbling furiously as John hadn't eaten for days since he'd been unconscious, and although Moriarty had given him food, John refused to give him the satisfaction of watching John attempt to eat it with his mouth like a dog as his hands were still tied behind his back. It was a game, and not one he was willing to play. John was no longer in darkness and the light flooding the room revealed a CCTV camera in the corner of the doorway, which John presumed Moriarty was using to record his every movement, most likely laughing at his misfortune. Therefore John did little but try and rest to save himself from horrific humiliation.

"Not bored are we John?" A familiar voice laughed. John had been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed the door opening and Moriarty stepping through. He was in a black suit with no tie and fiddling with something silver in his hands. John then saw it was his phone.

"I sent that photo to Sherlock," Moriarty said, strolling absent-mindedly around the room, "and no reply John"

John smiled to himself, which only angered Moriarty more. He sprinted up towards John's weak body and shouted in his face.

"WHERE IS HE JOHN?" he said practically spitting in John's face. John said nothing, only stared amusingly at Moriarty with cold dead eyes.

"He was meant to come and save you John" he hissed "maybe he doesn't care about you as much as I thought, he hasn't even replied yet"

_Good. _Thought John, _if he does come this'll all be for nothing and he'll get us both killed._

"ANSWER ME JOHN!" Moriarty screamed impatiently. Suddenly he smiled. "Or, maybe I just need to draw him out better"

"You leave him alone" John snarled. He'd meant it to sound as a threat but his throat was dry and sore so it came out more like a cough.

"It speaks!" Moriarty shouted in glee, he leaned in close to John again and whispered softly in his ear. "So what shall I do to you John to get him out?"

John didn't answer again, but just wished that no matter what Moriarty sent to Sherlock, he would resist the urge to come after him. He couldn't bear Sherlock to die as awfully as John was destined to in this current moment in time- he needed to stop him.

"Kill me" John said quietly. He needed to ensure that his sacrifice would save Sherlock, and he knew there was no point coming after a dead man- even Sherlock knew that. He would be free to mourn then move on, always cautious to be aware of Moriarty, and never letting him get to him.

"What was that?" Moriarty shouted, nearly deafening John.

"Kill me!" John repeated desperately.

"You're forgetting your manners sirrrrrrr" Moriarty mocked, starting to seemingly dance around the room.

"Please" John whispered.

"What's that?"

"PLEASE KILL ME!" John screamed.

"You hear that Sherlock?" Moriarty giggled, he'd had the speakerphone on the whole time, on a call to Sherlock. "Come and fetch your pathetic little pet or I will grant his wish"

"John?" A muffled voice at the end of the telephone said "John I'm coming just hang-"

"Oopsy" laughed Moriarty "Cut him off"

John glared back.

"Stop teasing the poor man Jim" Isabelle called, appearing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She strolled over to Moriarty and kissed his swiftly on the cheek before linking her own hand in his.

"So what do you want me to do with him sweetie?" Moriarty grinned.

"Make him hurt" she smiled cruelly, it was a smile that made John wonder why he'd ever believed she was actually trying to help him.

"Your wish is my command" Moriarty answered. He then got up and left the room. Isabelle knelt next to John's trembling body and fiddled with the ropes around his legs and hands. John's body suddenly felt a rush of energy like hope had once again filled his empty body.

"You're _helping _me?" John wheezed. Isabelle just laughed and John cursed himself for being so stupid. He wished he could read people as easily as Sherlock did, John always tried to see the best in people and saw now he placed trust in people too easily- and it now had serious consequences. Isabelle reached into her pocket and pulled out a gun.

"Just in case you try something stupid" she sighed. "Now get up"

His limbs now free, John took a deep breath and wobbled trying to stand up. Everywhere hurt. He wasn't sure he was going to manage it until he realised this may be his last chance at any attempt to escape the clutches of the fate he was entwined in. Rising to his feet he raised his shaking hands above his head and stared at Isabelle.

It was now or never.

John used all the energy he had left in him and kicked Isabelle hard in the stomach. Her hands automatically went to the impact section and she dropped the gun in the process. Despite the fact John's vision was clouded by stars he ran unevenly out the room.

"JIM!" He heard Isabelle scream and John couldn't decide which direction to take. The corridor was long, it almost seemed stretched, and was completely dark and damp. Suddenly John saw bright lights flashing behind him which could only be torches illuminating the path Moriarty's men were headed so John tried to pick up the pace. It reminded him of his old army days, running and hiding from the enemy- but this enemy was far more fearsome.

"Jooohhhhnnnnnnnn" a ghostly screech echoed. "Ready or not, here I come…"

Panting heavily, John continued to run but he felt his legs getting more and more unstable. His throat was so dry it felt like a drought filled land cracking all down his neck. But he had to keep going. He couldn't give in now. The corridor seemed endless and John heard the nearby footsteps getting closer and closer and closer.

He wasn't going to make it.

It was getting colder and colder and colder. Hope seemed further away than ever and John was getting exhausted. He had to accept that this was it. It was over.

_Maybe that's for the best. _He thought to himself. _I'm not quite ready to die, but it's been a good one._

The lights from the torches were so bright now John could see his path much clearer. Which was a good thing because he only saw the brick wall a few seconds before it would have been too late to stop.

"Shit" he muttered to himself. This really was the end. John just stood in front of the wall and stared hopelessly at it, tears spilling out his eyes which was a surprise to him, considering how dehydrated he was. He felt Moriarty's presence behind him along with men shouting at him to freeze. Then Moriarty tapped John on the shoulder and whispered "Found you"

A few minutes later John found himself back where he'd started- in his cell with ropes digging into his skin. However these ropes tied each hand to metal rings on the wall, arms spread out like he was a bird. A bird with clipped wings. Flightless. Still. Purposeless. Spots seemed to float around which John assumed was due to the blow to the head one of Moriarty's men had done to knock him out and bring him back to the place John was certain he would draw his last breath. Still it comforted him that his Sherlock was far from danger, and he hoped this was because Sherlock knew it was John's last wish to give his life for Sherlock's but there was still a tiny slither of doubt lurking in the back of John's head whispering that Sherlock could still potentially get himself hurt by trying to find him. This was John's choice- and anyone would respect that. Except Sherlock wasn't anyone. And he was bloody stubborn.

John had never been a religious man, or even a superstitious one. He hadn't prayed every day and night for his life during the time he'd spent in Afghanistan, neither did he believe it was God or a miracle that he survived those dreadful experiences. Despite this, John closed his eyes as tight as they would go, looked up as high as he could and whispered prayers of pleading to spare Sherlock from the terrible fate Moriarty has planned for him. He had to at least try.

Interrupted mid-thought, Moriarty stormed into the room dragging Isabelle behind him by the upper arm. She shot a look of terror towards John before being thrown violently to the hard, cool ground. Kneeling up, she glared at Moriarty with an attempt of looking fierce but her trembling lip gave her act away instantly, and in that brief moment, though insignificantly small, John felt himself feel sorry for her. Moriarty was not a boss to let down.

"Stupid bitch" he shouted snarling down at her like she was a disobedient dog. "You let a small half-starved weak little man overpower you and get free?"

"I-I'm sorry" Isabelle stumbled on her words "I wasn't concentrating properly, normally I-"

Her apology was interrupted by a sharp smack across her face. Moriarty moved his hand away and turned his back on her. Isabelle clutched her swollen cheek and John could see her hands shaking slowly, then she wiped some tears that had accidently spilt furiously and took a deep breath to regain control of herself. Forcing her unsteady legs to move, she stood up and tried to act like nothing had happened.

"So what are we gonna do with you John…?" Moriarty hissed slowly, leaning into him closer and closer. If one of John's legs was free of rope, he'd have kicked him but alas they were not. He used a similar method to earlier, gouged up as much saliva as he could and spat right in Moriarty's face. Moriarty screamed in disgust and wiped it away and punched John in the face to stop the weak laughing he had started.

_Uh oh. _John thought. _Now's there's gonna be some trouble._

Moriarty seemed to explode into a fit of pure red rage as if he had no control over his emotions whatsoever. He hadn't anticipated John being such an unpleasant guest and he was frankly fed up of the humiliation he was causing. Moriarty would have been even angrier if he'd seen the small smirk on Isabelle's face from across the room, and John was thankful it was gone once Moriarty had whipped around.

"Go get the guards!" Moriarty screamed, and as Isabelle nodded and quickly exited the room he pulled out John's phone from his top pocket and fiddled with it for a moment.

John's heart had never beaten so fast.

This was it.

There was no way Moriarty would keep him alive after that.

It was the end- right?

Or was it something worse?

John began to struggle with the ropes, finding all the energy he had to try and wriggle free but it was completely hopeless. The phone meant he was going to send something to Sherlock and whatever it was it wasn't good, and John was scared. He wasn't scared to admit he was scared. It was okay to be scared, fear keeps you fighting. Except that wouldn't help him now. _Nothing _could help him now.

Isabelle returned with two men dressed all in black carrying guns. Moriarty giggled with glee at the sight of them and his laughs bounced off the walls of the room like an eerie dark cave. The echoes rang in John's ears as he watched Moriarty whisper into the ears of the two men. They nodded and pulled out glistening knives from their belts. John struggled more. He began to mutter under his breath prayers and pleads and the closer the men got the louder he cried. Moriarty switched on the phone and had begun to record the video.

"Hey Sherlock" he introduced cheerfully "Just wanted to give you a sneek peak of all the fun you're missing out on over here! I'd ask John to give you a wave but he's a bit tied up right now!" Moriarty sniggered at his pathetic excuse for a joke.

"Sherlock!" John wheezed desperately "Sher-Sherlock don't come after me, no matter what happens or whatever I say next just stay where you are- _please_!"

"Do it" Moriarty said flatly. And the men reached their knives out to John's body. The first blade was used to slowly slice a line down John's shirt, exposing his open chest. Then the second man ran his knife down John's stomach, barely touching him at first, then cruelly applying pressure until it was slicing down John's flesh. John screamed and screamed as blood oozed out, slowly at first then came more and more and more. A fist slammed into the wound making John cough and tremble in absolute agony before the knives carving into him again on each of his arms. The men were careful not to do anything to cause fatal injuries- just unbelievable agony.

The room was now filled with various screams from John and laughs from Moriarty as the men kept slicing and punching and smacking and stabbing over and over and over again until John couldn't take it anymore. He looked around with hazy vision and saw Isabelle with a hand over her mouth in pure horror at the sight in front of her. John desperately mouthed _help me _but she didn't move an inch. Still crying and screaming John could see pools of blood beginning to form around his feet from the open wounds on his skin.

"Kill me!" he begged, crying with desperation.

Moriarty just grinned and put the camera down. "Not yet Doctor Watson. Not quite yet"


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey! Thanks for the reviews, favourites and followers-it means a lot to me! I managed to finish this chapter a day early so here it is; this chapter isn't as fast paced as others and focuses on where Sherlock is and how he's dealing with John's imprisonment. The dialogue was fun to write, especially between Lestrade and Sherlock. I hope I didn't make Sherlock too human, but I think John always brings out the best of him and so John being in such pain should show a completely different side to Sherlock- and it makes him vulnerable. Hope you enjoy the chapter and please please please review! They really are helpful to me when writing future chapters. Enjoy! **

He couldn't bare it. Sherlock just couldn't bear gazing at his small phone screen and watching the deep red blood drip slowly down John's torn up chest and splatter carelessly to the floor, creating mass pools around him. He was utterly powerless to stop what was going on from the secret location room Mycroft had moved him to three days ago, it was spacious and comfortable although Sherlock was struggling to leave his room at this present moment in time due to his injuries inhibiting his normal walk and the concern for John leaving him with neither interest or energy. Finally he understood how his clients felt when they burst into tears at the news of a close relation death, or begged him to help with finding someone missing. He didn't get why people were so attached and emotional. Sherlock decided he would never be unsympathetic to those people again- because he now knows exactly how they feel.

Mycroft had been staying with Sherlock in another room to aid him in the desperate search for John's whereabouts, and various policemen (mainly Lestrade) had also been round frequently to exchange information that could help, or share new theories and ideas on the topic. However Lestrade was visiting also to check up on Sherlock as he suspected he wasn't going to be dealing with this all that well- and he thought correct.

Currently Sherlock was sitting cross legged on his bed in the room, re-watching the latest video Moriarty had sent to him to try and make some deductions on where this mysterious place could be. Interrupted mid-thought, Lestrade strode in quietly and shut the door behind him and crouched awkwardly next to Sherlock.

"You're watching it again?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock didn't move his head away from the screen but just nodded softly. Although always appearing rude when Lestrade came to visit Sherlock secretly felt a small feeling of comfort spread across him as if a small piece of John was visible inside this character, maybe it was just that Sherlock needed a hand to hold right now, and Lestrade was second to John.

"You shouldn't keep watching it" Lestrade said quietly, "it'll only upset you"

"Which will make me more determined to find him" Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock-"

"Have you seen it?" Sherlock asked intensely. Lestrade shifted around a bit looking uncomfortable and shook his head. As if inviting him to watch it, Sherlock glanced towards the screen and back at Lestrade then tilted the phone so he could see it. Lestrade put a hand to his mouth in horror as he saw his friend being mutilated and hurt by these monsters. He heard wails of John, whose voice was slightly unrecognisable, pleading for death again and again and again…

"Jesus" Lestrade said closing his eyes, "Please turn- turn it off Sherlock"

Sherlock did as instructed and placed the phone on a small bedside table next to him, and sensing Lestrade needed one as he was frantically covering his eyes, Sherlock pulled out a tissue and handed it to him. Lestrade took it graciously and muttered a muffled 'thank you' before wiping his eyes. Hoping he had recovered, Sherlock turned to face him.

"Do you know anything more?" Sherlock asked.

"No" Lestrade said sadly, tilting his head a little. "I haven't spoken to your brother yet today but I'm pretty sure if he had found anything else out he'd have told you by now"

"I should have figured it out by now"

"You mustn't blame yourself-"

"But it's all my fault"

"Listen Sherlock. Mycroft told me you knew who that woman was, but telling someone wouldn't have stopped what is happening right now and you can't keep doing this to yourself. It was John's choice to go with her to protect you, would you blame John for what happened to you?"

"No" Sherlock replied sadly.

"No. Exactly" Lestrade continued "But he did even though it wasn't his fault. You've got to accept what has happened and concentrate on putting it right rather than dwell on the events that caused it"

"But it's eating away at me" Sherlock whispered "It feels like rats are gnawing on my flesh day and night and it hurts so much"

"I understand that but-"

"No you don't understand!" Sherlock shouted.

"Listen to me!" Lestrade urged "There have been so many times in my job that I've felt like I've sealed someone's fate because I wasn't good enough and that hurts me. Why do you think I call on you all the time? I can't let people down just because I'm not good enough at my job, and that guilt wears at me too. You need to push through it"

Sherlock was surprised at the emotion creeping into what Lestrade was saying, was it the truth? Had he asked Sherlock for help on cases not because he couldn't do it but because he didn't believe he was good enough and couldn't bear to let people down?

"I didn't think about it like that" Sherlock sighed. "I'm sorry"

"No I'm sorry for having a go at you" Lestrade muttered "Just remember it wasn't your fault, and we will find John I promise."

Sherlock nodded slowly.

"When was the last time you got any sleep?" asked Lestrade.

Sherlock shrugged "Couple of days ago, can't really remember"

"Well those bags under your eyes are darker than Moriarty's soul" Lestrade laughed gently. Sherlock smiled weakly back at him. "Get some sleep"

"I can't, John's still missing-"

"Well you aren't gonna be a help to him half dead are you?"

"I suppose"

"Go on, I'll keep working on it just get some rest and try not to worry so much" Lestrade stood up, smiled at Sherlock and placed his hand on the door handle before opening it. Just before he left the room Sherlock called "Greg?"

Lestrade whipped round. "Yes?"

"Thank you" Sherlock said smiling a little.

"You're welcome Sherlock" Lestrade replied, and it was only once he'd left the room that he realised Sherlock had remembered his name.

Lestrade continued to stroll around the house Mycroft had inhabited for the time-being, gazing at the normality of the contents in contrast to the dark event that had occurred over the past week and a bit. It made him uncomfortable to feel so safe and cosy in there whilst somewhere unknown John was in so much pain and torment that he'd prefer to be dead than suffer any more. Just as he stopped for a moment to think about this, he heard steady footsteps coming from behind then whipped around, jittery to see who it was.

It was Mycroft.

"Good morning Greg" Mycroft said solemnly, "You've spoken to Sherlock I imagine?"

Lestrade nodded.

Mycroft coughed and gestured towards a door next to him by extending his arm to the side. "We need to talk" he said.

Lestrade's heart beat faster. Was there news of Sherlock's whereabouts? Had they found the answer to where he was being hidden? Desperate to find the answer, Lestrade went into the room, followed quickly by Mycroft. There was a light wooden dining table in the centre with chairs neatly under it with a vase of pale white roses resting on top next to a silver laptop, which presumably belonged to Mycroft. Lestrade walked over to the table and sat in the nearest chair and coughed at Mycroft to begin whatever it was he wanted to discuss. Taking the seat opposite him, Mycroft sat down.

"So what are you doing to try and find him?" Lestrade asked urgently.

"Greg-"

"You've got the most specialised equipment in the whole of Great bloody Britain so why haven't you found him yet?

"Please just-"

"No. No, don't give excuses Mycroft" replied Lestrade angrily. "John Watson is an honourable man who is in a lot of shit right now because your men couldn't find one bloody woman and stop her from taking him!"

"We've found him" Mycroft said quietly.

"What? When?"

"Five days ago"

Lestrade couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew where Moriarty was hiding John? All this time that John had been trapped in hell, tortured and pleading for death, Mycroft had known where to find him?

"You bastard" Lestrade snarled.

"Just listen to me-"

"Your brother has been torturing himself in that room because he couldn't help his best friend, watching videos of him in pain and blaming himself- and all this time you knew where he was? Do you not care about your brother at all?"

"It's _because _I care about Sherlock that I had to keep it from him!" Mycroft snapped. Lestrade just laughed.

"Oh really? Can you for one minute stop trying to wriggle out the blame and be honest?"

"I'm serious Greg, just give me a chance to explain" Mycroft urged.

"Enlighten me then!" Lestrade shouted angrily, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. "Give me one reason that not telling Sherlock benefits anyone"

Mycroft coughed and placed his hands together on the table in front of him. "If I told Sherlock where John was hidden, he'd go after him"

"Well what else would you expect him to do?"

"It's a trap. They took John as bait to lure Sherlock right into the claws of Moriarty"

"Well if that's true why didn't they take Sherlock instead of John?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"Because Moriarty doesn't need him dead urgently, he wants to draw as much pain as possible from Sherlock because it's just the sort of person he is. Moriarty _enjoys _watching others suffer, and right now he's feeding off the pain of both John and Sherlock- and if Sherlock was to go after John, they'd both end up dead" Mycroft said seriously.

"But you could send someone else-"

"I did." Mycroft replied, "I sent ten men, ten of the best qualified men for the job in Great Britain as soon as I discovered the location"

"And?" Lestrade asked urgently.

"Dead" Mycroft stated grimly. "All of them"

"Shit" Lestrade breathed.

"Exactly"

"So what do we do?"

"I'm trying to come up with a plan to get John out but… I'm not sure how to Greg" Mycroft sighed. "And I know you probably won't believe me when I say this but seeing John in that state upsets me as much as it upsets you"

For once, Lestrade believed Mycroft's every word. However this didn't get them any closer to solving the problem they were facing, and Lestrade was just as blank as Mycroft was on how to approach the possibility of getting John safely back home. He understood Mycroft's reasons for not letting Sherlock know but he couldn't help feeling that it was too unfair on him and was making him suffer in his room so much. Sherlock could help. Why hadn't he figured it out yet?

"Why isn't Sherlock getting anywhere with finding him?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft looked up at him appearing slightly uncomfortable. There was something in his eyes, a shimmer of guilt flicking softly like a candle running low on wick in a blackened, darkened and dimming room. Lestrade remembered his conversation with Sherlock earlier about how guilt eats away at you, maybe it happens to everyone, even people who seem to have a cold hard exterior like Mycroft- maybe applying enough pressure can smash the shell.

"We've been giving him false information to work with" Mycroft said almost reluctantly. "We couldn't risk him finding out the truth and running straight into a trap"

"There's still one thing I don't understand" continued Lestrade, "The woman who attacked Sherlock could easily have killed him, so why didn't he die there and then?"

"I don't believe he wanted him dead in that moment" replied Mycroft, "The original plan if you remember was still to kidnap John and lure Sherlock to him, Moriarty wants them both gone- as slowly and painfully as possible"

"Shit" said Lestrade.

….

Sherlock couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had his ear pressed up against the wall and listened closely to the muffled echoes from the next room and tried to suppress a feeling of pure loathing towards is older brother. For once in his life he'd trusted him and he'd been let down. He knew where John was? He'd watched the videos sent to Sherlock's phone and done nothing to try and get John out of the hell he'd been in all because of Sherlock. Everything Lestrade had told him earlier about not blaming himself disappeared instantly because he hadn't realised he was being betrayed, and Sherlock _always _knew. But this time he'd let his friend down just when it mattered most.

Just as Sherlock was about to storm in and confront his brother, one of Mycroft's men dressed in black walked through the door into his room.

"You should be in bed sir" he said gruffly. "I was wondering if you wanted a drink?"

"Just a water please" muttered Sherlock, and he stood up and limped slowly back to his bed, eyes fixed on the man. When he was about a metre away from his bed, Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his chest causing him to whimper weakly and fall to the floor and he watched Mycroft's man leap forward to catch him and landed in his arms.

"Easy there" the man laughed weakly. "You need some rest" Sherlock nodded and slowly, aided by the man, began to rise.

Now standing with support, Sherlock looked into the man's eyes, raised a clenched fist and punched him hard in the face. The man was shoved backwards with blood instantly beginning to drip down his nose and his body lay sprawled out on the floor, unconscious. Sherlock reached down to the man's belt and pulled out his gun.

"Sorry" Sherlock said, and then began to quietly edge out the room, tiptoeing to avoid being detected by Mycroft's sharp senses. Once outside the room, he waited for about half a minute before breathing in all his remaining energy and running through the door, gun pointing ahead of him. Sherlock saw Lestrade's head whip round and a look of both horror and surprise spread across his face whereas Mycroft just glared at his little brother, but there was a small dot of fear in his eyes.

"You knew" Sherlock snarled.

"Sherlock, listen-" Mycroft answered desperately.

"Shut up" shouted Sherlock, raising the gun at Mycroft's head. "Now tell me where he is or I'll shoot"

Lestrade stood up slowly and raised his hands up slightly. "Now Sherlock" he said cautiously, "Just think about what you're doing-"

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock screamed. "Tell me where he is Mycroft or I swear I will pull this trigger"

"I can't do that Sherlock" he replied calmly, "It puts you both in more danger"

Sherlock laughed, but couldn't control the trembling his body was suffering from, his hands shook on the gun and tears began to drown his eyes and spill uncontrollably. Lestrade took a small step towards Sherlock and Sherlock answered by shooting the floor near his feet. Jumping quickly, Lestrade looked surprised and shocked at Sherlock's threat, and stepped back to his original position.

"Shoot me then" Mycroft stated.

"I-I can't" Sherlock stuttered, starting to sob. "So you aren't gonna tell me where he is?"

"No"

"Okay then" Sherlock breathed. "There's only one reason Moriarty is keeping John in there, take that away and he might let him go"

"And what's that?" asked Lestrade nervously.

Sherlock answered by pointing the gun at his own head, and closing his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! Sorry for not updating last Tuesday but I was at a concert (All Time Low and You Me At Six in Birmingham which was absolutely amazing!) and I hadn't finished this chapter in time to post early. I'd thought about posting this next Tuesday but I needed to get it out since it ended on such a cliffhanger. I hope I'm not stretching Sherlock's character too close to the human side, but I feel that it's John that's doing it to him ya know? The chapter doesn't travel very far but I felt it was important to continue developing Sherlock's emotions to show how far he'd go for John and I've touched on the mystery of Redbeard a little bit since I think it explains a lot about him. I've also introduced another familiar face to talk to Sherlock, and I promise there'll be some John in the **_**next **_**chapter since he wasn't in the last one or this one. Thanks for all the great reviews and please keep them coming! I'm beginning to sound quite repetitive about it but I love getting reviews and they really help me keep writing I swear! I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

"Sherlock?" a soft voice gently spoke behind him. Cautiously, Sherlock turned around, not removing the gun pointed at the side of his head. He wasn't sure who he expected to see, but it was a surprise for him as he saw Molly Hooper standing there, with a weak, scared smile across her face. Although apparently trying to appear tough, her nerves were dripping out through her hands which were held up and quivering like there was an uncomfortable chill in the air. Sherlock wasn't sure which way to look in fear of someone from either side making any attempt to remove the gun still pointing to his head which was now aching and heavy, like it was experiencing aftermath vibrations of a drum that'd be violently swung at.

Too much weight rested on his shoulders.

As if sensing his sudden arousals, Molly tried timidly to take a tiny, hardly noticeable in fact, step closer to where Sherlock was standing but was met immediately with spitting hostility.

"Stay back" he hissed menacingly. Molly froze in place and nodded her head gently. She put down her arms that were still slightly hovering in the air and stepped back to where she was, creaking the floorboards a little which came out as a long wailing groan. Startled, Sherlock jumped a little at the sudden noise but breathed in deeply, practically drowning his lungs in oxygen, which calmed his nerves- well, as calm as they _could _be.

"Can I…" Molly squeaked and coughed before continuing. "Can I speak Sherlock?"

"If it's of immediate importance" said Sherlock emotionlessly. "Otherwise please don't waste time"

"Fine" Molly replied, voice more sturdy than before. Her dark brown eyes met with both Mycroft's and Lestrade's across the room and seemed to slowly soften as if to reassure them also that nothing will happen of extreme peril, though the situation itself seemed so grave.

Although agreeing to hear Molly out, Sherlock didn't remove the gun from the side of his face because he was worried he'd be too much of a coward to put it back there if dropped by his side.

"You know this wouldn't solve anything Sherlock" Molly stated gravely.

"It will" Sherlock insistently. "It will, they won't need John anymore if I'm dead, they'll-"

"Kill him" Molly finished in a dark tone. Sherlock shook his head frantically, appearing more to reassure himself than Molly, Mycroft or John.

"Think about it Sherlock" Molly urged. "They'll think John'll talk, they want him dead nearly as much as you and what's in it for them keeping him alive? Nothing. Nothing, Sherlock Holmes. The only chance we have of getting him out is you, and you can't do that in this frame of mind so you need to pull yourself together right now"

Sherlock's finger trembled on the trigger as if he was using all his remaining strength not to pull on it and end it all.

"But-" Sherlock whispered.

"No 'buts'" said Molly firmly. Suddenly feeling like she'd spat the words a little harshly, she nudged in closer again, taking it slow step by slow step but wasn't exiled by threats from Sherlock's mouth- which she took as a positive sign. Molly saw as she got closer that tears were furiously spilling down Sherlock's face and clouding his vision and she watched in relief as his tight grip on the gun loosened a little. Now only a few centimetres away from Sherlock's damp face, Molly lifted an arm up to try and prise the gun out of his quaking hand.

"You can't just run away" she whispered as her hand was now partly sharing the gun's handle. "You can't just leave him all on his own- Moriarty will kill him and all of that suffering will be for nothing, you'd have died _for nothing_"

Finally Sherlock's arms drooped down to his side like a withering flower in wintertime, and the gun was completely in Molly's grasp which she speedily handed over to Lestrade who took it graciously and mouthed a 'thank you' whilst Mycroft nodded his head slightly as a sign of appreciation. Sherlock wasn't sure what to do with himself but the pain in his leg was beginning to spread rapidly and it was causing him to feel like the ground was collapsing beneath him, luckily Molly spotted this and caught him just as Sherlock went limply down to the floor. She continued to hold him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, while he gently wept into her.

"Shhh" Molly hushed soothingly. "It'll all be all right Sherlock I promise"

"You should get him back to his room" Lestrade said carefully, crouching next to her and placing a hand on her back tentatively. Sherlock was whimpering softly like a frightened dog and Mycroft also strode over to where the three were and even he couldn't mask the face of extreme concern on his face seeing his little brother in that state of shock and hurt.

"I'll get someone to take him back" Mycroft said. Lestrade turned to him.

"No, I'll take him" he answered, and removed Molly's arms from Sherlock and replaced them with his own. Then he raised Sherlock off the floor and wrapped Sherlock's arms around his shoulders for support and, moving very slowly and steadily, walked out the room. Just before reaching the door, Lestrade turned his head and met his eyes with Mycroft's.

"Then we need to talk about how we're going to get John out" he said, in a slightly hostile tone.

"But-"

"No Mycroft" Lestrade growled "I'm not listening to you, not this time" And before waiting for an answer he left still supporting a damaged Sherlock.

Mycroft closed his eyes momentarily and placed a hand to his forehead. Molly was still crouched on the floor, shaking a little now Sherlock had gone. She'd tried to be strong for Sherlock's sake, to comfort him, but the truth was there were no other experiences she'd had where she'd been more terrified. Mycroft noticed her looking so small and fragile and held a hand out to help her up.

Smiling, Molly took the hand and slowly stood up.

"Are you okay my dear?" Mycroft asked politely.

"Not really" Molly sighed, "I always thought he was so strong and above emotions like that but…" she trailed off, unable to think what to say next.

"I understand" Mycroft agreed, "I know you think me heartless but the truth is I care for him Miss Hooper and that's why I need to get this all sorted out without harming him in the process"

"Just make sure it does get sorted out" Molly said, and with that she left the room after Lestrade to see if he needed help with attending to Sherlock.

Once back in Sherlock's room, Lestrade placed him on the bed gently just as Molly entered the room. He'd stopped crying, but his face was too relaxed, like a corpse frozen in place- it was like Sherlock was a victim of shellshock and it didn't look too promising that he'd ever snap back to normal.

"I'm gonna get this all sorted out Sherlock" Lestrade comforted, "Don't worry just get some rest"

Molly was hovering in the doorway, leaning on the side of the door wondering when things had got so complicated and distorted- wishing for Sherlock's sake John would be returned safely because without him to lean on, Sherlock was miserable. Miserable to the point that he'd contemplated committing suicide- and that scared Molly more than she could say.

She noticed Lestrade pulling up a chair to sit next to Sherlock, but called out to him just before he was seated.

"Greg?"

Lestrade turned his head towards her and nodded questionably.

"You go meet Mycroft, I'll see if Sherlock's okay" she insisted. Lestrade looked like he was about to argue, but then debated the situation in his head and found he was much more useful in helping get John out than sitting my Sherlock's bed- at least he may be able to find a way to help him in a more long term circumstance. Deciding this was the best option, he passed Molly through the doorway but was momentarily stopped by her arm which extended out to touch his chest, blocking his exit.

"I know you Greg" she whispered seriously. "I know you'll be blaming yourself for not finding him, or even not noticing Mycroft knew where he was but this wasn't you"

"Someone's got to take responsibility" Lestrade answered, looking down at the floor beneath him.

"This is all Moriarty" Molly insisted "Everyone's forgetting that- it's his fault and no-one else's. Just get him out of there understand?"

"Understood. And could you, umm..." he glanced at Sherlock, "keep me posted? You know, on how he's doing?"

"Of course" Molly smiled, and she pulled him into a tight hug for a few seconds before letting him leave to talk to Mycroft.

Sitting in the seat Lestrade had pulled up next to Sherlock's bed, Molly tentatively took Sherlock's hand into her own and stroked them like a mother comforting her weeping child. His eyes were still open, but drooping as if he was trying his hardest to keep them them- trying hard to stay in the hell he was in and not slipping away into the peaceful darkness that would swallow and engulf his soul.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's pupils shifted and focused on Molly who smiled back at him, but it was a smile that was unrequited.

"They'll get him out of there you'll see" Molly said cheerfully, though doubt was creeping into her voice slowly.

"They won't" Sherlock whispered.

"Why do you say that? We have to stay positive-"

Sherlock laughed. It was a small laugh that Molly couldn't quite distinguish at first as a laugh or a sob- either way the noise broke her heart a little to hear Sherlock giving up hope and seeing him slowly lose himself to the pain.

"Mycroft was right" Sherlock muttered, "caring is _not _an advantage"

"How?"

"I'm a wreck because of this Molly" Sherlock answered calmly, "If I didn't care so much I'd have found him by now- but no. I had to betray the one moral I've kept since childhood and get John in this mess"

Molly placed a hand gently on Sherlock's shoulder and tilted his head so his eyes met hers. She'd fallen in love with those eyes the first time she'd seen them- there was something unusual about the colour and how it seemed to shift, however she soon learnt they were cold; uncaring and callous until Sherlock had proved this was not the case not long after being introduced to John. There was a sparkle in them that Molly hadn't seen before, and although it hurt her that he'd never look at her with those eyes, she knew he was a changed man and that John Watson had made him better.

"When did you start following that principle Sherlock?" Molly asked inquisitively, mildly interested in the answer.

Sherlock sat in silence for a while before replying.

"When I was about five" Sherlock started reluctantly, "I had this spaniel called Redbeard. I wasn't great at making friends- well I guess you'd assumed that already- but this dog was all I needed. We went everywhere together and Mycroft used to tease me about how attached I was to him, but I didn't care because he was just so great. I walked him every morning, every night, fed him, washed him, played with him. Redbeard was my best friend"

Sherlock had begun to smile a little at the happy memories being awakened, but it was a sad smile too, which made Molly was all the more curious to find out what had happened.

"One day- about five years since I first got Redbeard- I was on my way home from school, and I was stood opposite my house on the other side of the road. The street I lived on was quiet, but some boys had followed me home and cornered me there, around four or five of them I think there were? Anyway they crowded around my and began to push me around between them, I didn't particularly care as it happened a lot, but I got hit a bit too hard and fell to the floor. My mum had seen what was going on through the window and opened the front door to come out, she didn't appear straight away as I guess she was putting on her shoes or something but I'd cried out when I fell on the ground because I landed on my arm funny- and later found out I'd sprained it. But Redbeard must have heard my cry and suddenly bolted out the house to my aid, across the road and… Well, a car came out of nowhere and hit him"

Sherlock's expression had changed to a look of pure hurt, and had scrunched up as if to try and hide himself away, but he continued.

"We took him to the vets but he was in so much pain and his injuries were too severe that we had to have him put down. And I'd lost my only friend because he was trying to save me due to my weakness" Sherlock looked up, "Remind you of a recent situation? I can't lose John too Molly"

"So after losing Redbeard, you swore never to care for anything again, because it hurt you so much when he died?" Molly asked.

"That's right"

"You'd better hope we _don't _get John out of there Sherlock"

Sherlock looked alarmed, "How come?" he asked.

"Or I might tell him you've been comparing him to a new dog" Molly giggled, "He would _not _be happy with that!"

Sherlock laughed a little too, "I suppose you're right, but I've said worse to him"

"I don't know how he puts up with you"

"Neither do I" Sherlock sighs, "Sometimes I feel like he's just addicted to the adventure you know? Like he's only my friend because of the cases, not because of me"

"That's not true" Molly smiled, "Anyone can see how much he likes you- you're his best friend"

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment. "You're right Molly Hooper" and he leaned in to her and delicately kissed her on the cheek. "You're so right and d'you know what?"

"What?" Molly asked, slightly blushing from the small peck from Sherlock.

"I'm gonna get him out of there, or die trying. But I need to know where he is"

"And how are you going to get the information?"

"Not me, you."

Molly laughed. "Me? How?"

"You'll need to ask Lestrade, but tell him it's nothing to do with me. I need to do this without them- they'll give it away to Moriarty I know they will. Tell them I'm asleep and ask if they'd like a drink, then ask- only mildly curiously, where John is being kept and come back to tell me"

"Sherlock I can't-"

"Please Molly" Sherlock begged, "You're my last hope of finding him"

Molly looked thoughtful for a moment, contemplating whether or not to follow Sherlock's wishes when she looked into those eyes again. It was completely different. They were full of hope and desperation- and she just couldn't say no.

"Okay" she agreed. "I'll do it"


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey! Can't believe I've managed to get this chapter done in time, a lot of fast typing here! Thanks for the reviews again, keep them coming please! It's getting to a point where I think I may have to start thinking about how this fic is going to end, and originally it was going to be 10 chapters long but I can't conclude it properly in only 2 more chapters. Gonna be honest, I've thought of several different endings but I can't decide on the one I like the most but I want it to be unexpected and non-cliché- this chapter doesn't travel far but I wanted to do something in another character's perspective and I love Molly to bits! John is briefly in this chapter as promised but not too much because he isn't the focus yet, it's all about Sherlock trying to figure out how to get John out and for him to do that he needs to know his location. Anyway, babble over- enjoy the chapter and please review and follow and favourite I really appreciate it!**

"So what's the plan Mycroft?" Lestrade asked inquisitively whilst his hand reached for his coffee mug, however once lifted to his mouth, he found it was empty much to his dismay.

"Well," Mycroft said, rubbing his creased forehead with the palm of his hand. "I suppose we need to get someone inside in disguise, and kill Moriarty."

"Kill him?" Lestrade questioned. "If this is a police operation then we can't-"

"It won't be." Mycroft stated in a rather flat tone. "I'll take full responsibility for the events; this will be carried out by the highest authority and the death of Jim Moriarty will be justified if I consider him to be a threat to this country- which I do."

"But-"

"No buts." Mycroft interrupted, "Either you're in this investigation or you're not."

"But I'm _in_ the police."

"Then I'll recruit you separately for this case, if you want to stay and help, anything you do or say here will not be on record."

"Mycroft-"

"Greg, please." Mycroft said calmly, "I need your help."

Lestrade weighed the options in his head, but came to one conclusion. He owed both John and Sherlock for their aid on numerous occasions and they were such dear friends to him, there was no other choice but to agree and help. He nodded at Mycroft and sat back in his chair, slumping slightly. Just as Mycroft was about to begin to speak again, Molly popped her head through the door and Lestrade sat back upright in his chair awaiting news of Sherlock's current state, assuming that was the reason for her arrival.

Molly was surprised that it was Mycroft who spoke first.

"How is he?" Mycroft asked curiously.

Molly hesitated, nervous at the task Sherlock had begged her to complete, and Lestrade's eyes grew wide- obviously taking Molly's hesitation as a heed of warning.

"He's umm… asleep." Molly stumbled, faking a small smile in the process. "He's f-feeling a lot better and is asleep in his bed."

"I don't want him left on his own after what he nearly did…" Lestrade said cautiously.

"Oh one of Mycroft's men is keeping an eye on him until I get back." Molly lied. "I just um, wanted to update you? Also I was wondering if you wanted something to drink?"

Lestrade thought back to his empty mug and suddenly had a strong craving for some warmth inside him like a nice strong coffee. Mycroft also looked like he needed one as Lestrade suspected he hadn't been asleep for a while, and a kick of caffeine may solve that for the time being whilst they sorted this mess out.

"That'd be absolutely fantastic thanks Molly." Lestrade thanked. Then he reached over the table to grab the empty mug of Mycroft's after taking his own and handing them to a very nervous looking Molly. He wasn't suspicious of her behaviour as he knew she'd been badly shaken up by Sherlock's actions not that long ago, and she took the mugs from his hands, turned away to leave then stopped for a moment.

"Just out of curiosity," Molly began, "Where is Moriarty keeping John?"

"I'm sorry Miss Hooper." Mycroft said before Lestrade could speak, "I can't give you that information."

"I swear I won't tell anyone-"

"Still a no I'm afraid." Mycroft said apologetically, "Protocols my dear."

Realising it was useless, Molly gave up and went to make the drinks, she'd just have to find some other way to get the information since she couldn't bear letting Sherlock down.

…

John was in hell. He wasn't even sure he could explain how much pain he was in. Agony? Excruciating? No, they were too soft and gentle for the pain his body felt, it was like he was getting slowly chewed apart by hungry rats, or getting gently licked by sizzling flames setting his flesh alight bit by bit.

Like he was getting sliced apart by a thousand blades.

Which was the most accurate of course, because that was exactly what was happening to him. John wondered if Sherlock was ever going to come to his aid because it was reaching a point where his loyalty was giving in to the longing of healing, medication or even death- and it disappointed him. Loyalty was key in the army, it made you fight harder and care for people more who were on the battlefield with you so when he first met Sherlock, John was loyal in an instant since it was a trait of his that he was, admittedly, proud of.

But Moriarty was even taking that away from him.

It was like John was losing who he was, and to him, that was worse than dying. He wanted death, he _needed _it like an addict needs a drug to numb their pain- but it was just out of his reach. Unfortunately Moriarty had seemed to work out the exact balance of care, so John didn't die, and agony, so he would suffer for a long time to come. Currently John was tied to the wall, still in his crucifix sort of position, with his wounds cleaned and some stitched to stay clear of infection, however without drugs to ease the stretched hours past and present. Not long ago he had been spoon fed by a very irritating man who was full of glee at John's misfortune and it was difficult not to react and give him the satisfaction he obviously craved, John had become a pet with the last of his dignity shred to bits.

"Jooooooohnnnnnyyyyyy?" A child-like voice sang in the dark, causing echoes to bounce off the walls and ring loudly in John's ear. Reluctantly, he opened his sleepy eyes and found the lights had been switched on brightly and Moriarty was stood a couple of metres away from the wall which he was tied to.

"Hey Jim." John managed to get out weakly, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"How are you?" Moriarty asked, mock-politely.

"Never better!" John laughed which turned into a feeble cough.

"Good good."

"How are you Jim?"

"Not too great to be honest here John." Moriarty sighed.

"How come?"

"Oh well I've been expecting Sherlock to show up so I can destroy him with you then kill you both as slowly and agonisingly as possible but HE'S NOT BLOODY HERE!" Moriarty started calmly and by the end was a fearsome roar.

John giggled weakly in reply. Moriarty answered by running up to him, lifting a hand threateningly and slapping him across the face. _Such minor pain _John thought _compared to the hell I'm in right now. _And it didn't cease his laughter.

"Shut up." Moriarty snarled.

"No."

"SHUTUP!" he roared and punched him hard in his wounded chest. John squealed at the immense pain as he felt the gashes re-open at the strong impact and the familiar trickle of blood drip down his bare front. Ashamed, he whimpered at the feeling, much to Moriarty's delight.

"Not laughing now are you Doctor Watson!" he shouted in glee. He rummaged in his right pocket for something and pulled out the phone once more. John froze. Getting that phone out meant one thing.

"Now John," Moriarty continued, "I need another message sent to Sherlock, but this time- you're going to send it. I want you to tell him to come and get you as soon as possible, and that you need him here _desperately._"

"N-n-no." John managed to get out.

"Yes. You will."

"I refuse."

"Well I'll give you a choice. Refuse, and the pain you're in now will seem like a paper cut compared to what I will put you through," Moriarty smiled, then he strolled over until he was centimetres away from John's face and pulled another object from his jacket and held it up. "Or, do exactly what I say and I'll give you this."

"What is it?" John asked curiously as his eyes were a little too hazed to identify it.

"Morphine." Moriarty replied.

"Bribing me with drugs?" John asked, smiling a little. "I'm not that desperate yet to kill my best friend in order to feel a little relief."

"Then we'll have to do something about that won't we?"

…

Whilst Molly was waiting for the kettle to boil she crept carefully into Sherlock's room to ask for his advice on what to do next. He was still upright on his bed and he turned almost excitedly when he saw Molly enter, it was almost endearing to witness.

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked.

"They wouldn't say." Molly sighed apologetically, "I'll try again I promise but I don't know how to make them tell me without giving you away."

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment, Molly was glad he was entering a state of normality once again as she believed his fire of hope was re-lit and would burn until they got John home safe and sound.

"Right," John decided, "You need to go to Mycroft and Lestrade and tell them I've collapsed and breathing heavily, make it sound serious enough for them both to go out the room to see me- in fact, tell them I asked to see them or something. Once they've left, fetch their drinks and look at any of their paperwork out on the table, laptop screens, phones if they leave them- just get the location Molly. Once they come back in, if you're still in there just say you were dropping off the drinks, offer to look in on me and get me the information."

Molly took it all in slowly, going over it in her head to make sure she had it all and nodded her head nervously. Sherlock beamed up at her and that childlike gaze had returned to his face.

"Shall I go now?" Molly asked.

"Yes." said Sherlock bluntly. Molly nodded again, took a deep breath and walked to the door to leave but was stopped by Sherlock's voice. "Molly?"

She turned around and mumbled a small 'yes'.

"Thank you."

She smiled uncontrollably. "You're welcome Sherlock." Then she exited and headed to the kitchen, it was better to make the drinks ready to bring in straight away, in case she didn't have much time in the room alone with all the notes and equipment to thoroughly check through and gather the needed information.

Once the drinks had been made, Molly prepared herself for the task ahead. You may think it'd be the easiest plan in the world to follow, and it was a simple plan admittedly, but it was the deception Molly was concerned about- could she convince them both? She wasn't the best actor in the world, and if she was caught getting the information she could potentially be charged since it was such a high authorised mission- but Sherlock and John were both worth the risk.

Acting confident, Molly strode quickly into the room Mycroft and Lestrade were seated in and tried to appear as out of breath as possible.

"Quick!" She said frantically, "Sherlock is um, well he's breathing weird and he fell over and… and well he asked for you both to come!"

"Is it serious?" asked Lestrade nervously, beginning to stand up.

"Yes, I-I think so." Molly stammered. "You'd better go quick; I'll fetch your drinks."

Both men got up fast and practically ran out the room, followed by Molly who went to collect their mugs from the kitchen. Her hands were shaking from the stress, and bits of the coffee spilt over the sides as she walked quickly back to the room. Once down on the table, Molly went to work.

There were few papers sprawled out on the surface, and when Molly did glance at them they all seemed to be files on Moriarty, John and the events that'd happened recently- none contained any mention of John's whereabouts. They both had obviously pocketed their mobiles as none were seen on the table- however two laptop screens were open, unlocked. Molly went round to the other side of the table to see what the screen contained, but heard voices coming from down the corridor and froze in place unable to move.

After a few seconds, Molly realised the voices were of Mycroft's men and they were echoing away from her rather than towards much to Molly's relief. She continued scanning the screen, however no useful information was on there, merely notes on how they'd get John out without being detected and caught red-handed. Unable to stop reading, Molly noticed the date the document saved was from days ago, before Lestrade even knew John's location- and it was indeed his laptop. She wasn't the only one desperate to get John back home.

Switching to the laptop next to it, Molly nearly cried out in delight at the sight of a sort of GPS location with a dot labelled, presumably Moriarty's hideout. However, it contained no address or post code- merely an 'x marks the spot' treasure map that Molly couldn't read. Finding no other way, Molly pulled out her phone and took a bad quality picture of the laptop- praying that Sherlock would be able to figure it out and find John from what little information she could gather. For a moment she wondered if she should take a photo of the plan Lestrade had put together, but she was interrupted mid-thought as Mycroft and Lestrade were heard close by.

Trying not to look panicked; Molly slowly exited the room and nearly ran into Lestrade in the doorway.

"D-drinks." Molly said, faking a small smile. "How is Sherlock?"

"Thanks Molly, and yeah he's fine I think just a bit hazy for a moment there, nothing to worry about." Lestrade answered, squeezing past her followed by Mycroft and sitting back down at the table. They both took a sip of their coffee, and Molly pretended to look relieved.

"Good." She said, "I'm going to stay with him for a bit, shout for me if you need anything else."

"Will do Molly, thanks again for the drinks!" Greg shouted after her.

Molly left and breathed a deep breath of relief as she strolled over to Sherlock's room, legs shaking a little bit from the nervousness of trying to manipulate an incredibly good Detective Inspector and a man who was even smarter than Sherlock himself.

When Molly opened Sherlock's door, he was still pretending to be weak and was in bed coughing and clutching his chest as if his heart was failing.

"Dedicated aren't you?" Molly smiled. Sherlock sat up once he'd recognised Molly's voice and waited patiently for her to speak.

"No address was written anywhere, just a map with a location marked. I've got a picture of it on my phone; I'll send it you now." Molly said reaching into her pocket to grab her mobile. Sherlock smiled excitedly to himself and took his own phone in his hand to wait for the photo. As soon as his ring- tone beeped, he opened the file and scanned it carefully but quickly with his eyes, then closed them to rummage through his mind palace to identify a specific location or even a building that could potentially be where John was.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock put a finger to his lips to quieten her down while he thought when it suddenly hit him.

"Sherlock? Is this useful? Did I do ok? Can you find-"

"I've got it Molly." Sherlock breathed, "I know where he is."

"Where?"

"Grays in Essex. There's an abandoned warehouse by the Thames that used to be some storage facility- why didn't I think of it before?"

"So you know where he is? We can get him out?" asked Molly, heart-racing.

"Just you watch me." Sherlock smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, thanks for the reviews again for this story! It's beginning to draw to a close soon, however I think I'm going to spread the ending across a few chapters because I have finally picked the ending and it's going to need time to make it fully developed. I enjoyed writing this chapter as it's entirely set where John is and I haven't done that for a few chapters, please comment on it in a review honestly and I would love to hear ideas on how this should end, or even predictions on what you think is going to happen. Thanks again for reading my fic, it's great to have support as it is my first one ever. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

"Thought any more about my offer John?" asked Moriarty curiously. He'd left John alone for some time to think about it, however John obviously wasn't aware of how long he'd left since there was no clock in the room, and his sense of time had be recently distorted-he didn't even know the date nor how long he'd been in this filthy warehouse. He truthfully wasn't thinking at all about the offer handed to him as he already knew his answer; he'd been trying to fall asleep and just as he was making progress- he was rudely interrupted by the sound of Moriarty strolling in and humming what John recognised to be 'Stayin'Alive'.

"Answer John…" Moriarty growled, more impatiently this time. John's last sole joy in life now was to wind him up to potential insanity.

"Why yes Jim," John began, forcing a smile, "I have thought about it."

"Yes?"

"And my answer is…"

Moriarty leaned in closer, right in John's dirty, sweaty, bruised and blood-stained face. He was grinning smugly, like an athlete in the Olympics crossing the finish line- like someone who knows victory is in their grasp.

"No." John smiled, and he spat in Moriarty's face. It was becoming a habit of his.

"Disgusting." Moriarty spluttered, "What is up with you and spitting in people's faces?"

_Only defence I have, _John thought to himself sadly, at least it pissed Moriarty off.

"I don't know why you stay so loyal to him John," Moriarty snarled, "You owe him _nothing_. He's not even on his way to come and get you- what kind of friend is he?"

"If you didn't believe he'd come and get me I wouldn't still be alive would I?" John pointed out, "You're just trying to temp me into saying yes so you'll drag him over here and have him killed."

"Don't miss a trick do you John." Moriarty chuckled, "But do you really think he _isn't _going to come for you after what he risked for you last time? Mark my words John, he'll be here soon and then you'll be sorry you didn't accept my offer."

"Then why are you offering me them then?" John asked, not understanding his logic.

"Because I need him here quicker John, _I'm bored_."

Before John could answer, someone entered through the door. The clicking of the heels on the hard cold floor gave it away to be a woman, and as she stepped into the light John saw it was Isabelle.

She looked a mess.

Her usual pristine brown hair was tangled and messy like it hadn't been brushed for days, but John knew she'd have one close by so it must have been badly pulled recently. Her clothes were crumpled as if they had never been ironed and once she was closer to John he noticed a few buttons were coming lose and others missing from her blouse. Mascara was smudged around her red eyes, lipstick too around her lips. Across her left eye there was a deep blue and purple bruise along with bits of red on her checks.

John didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out.

Moriarty swiftly turned around and glared at Isabelle with dark piercing eyes, she coughed nervously and spoke with a shaky voice.

"There's um, someone on the phone for you- it sounded urgent."

Moriarty sighed loudly, clearly irritated and marched over to Isabelle who flinched a little bit in fear, but he just thrust the silver mobile into her hand and pulled her closer to him so her ear was centimetres away from his mouth. He spoke so quietly and softly that John only just heard what he said, thanks to the echo of the large room.

"Make him agree, _whatever it takes._"

Isabelle nodded frantically and was kissed on the cheek by Moriarty- right on her swollen bruise. Once he'd left Isabelle shuddered violently but regained herself and walked over to where John was attached to the wall- facing him sternly.

"Why don't you agree?" she asked, more curiously than angrily.

"Loyalty."

"But why?"

"He's my friend Isabelle; I don't expect you to understand." John sneered. She glared back at him and took another step closer so she was face to face with him.

"That's not true." She growled angrily, "I understand loyalty perfectly."

"You're just loyal to the wrong people." John muttered. Isabelle continued to stare at him, but her face had fallen slightly as if she knew what John said was true and she was ashamed of it. John was finding her very complicated- one minute he felt nothing more than pure hatred for the woman who had broken him and Sherlock up, but the next it was like Isabelle was lost and wounded- someone who needed guidance. John was determined to help her if he could.

"I need you to agree to this John." Isabelle said quietly. "You need these drugs, and like Jim said, Sherlock's on his way anyway- you know he is."

"I can't Isabelle." John insisted, "It's not who I am, I don't betray my friends for personal gain and I'm not about to change that for anything in the world- even my own life."

After seeing her confused look, John continued. "Wouldn't you do that for Moriarty?"

"No." She admitted, "But I'm not a good person like you."

"I disagree. I just believe you haven't found anyone that deserves your loyalty- I can't believe you stay with him despite the way he treats you."

"I love him!"

"That's not love- you're deluded!" John shouted. "You're blinded by power and need to get out before you become just like him."

"John, shut up-"

"No I won't, you stay with the man who beats and hurts you- and we both know he'll never change and _he doesn't love you!_"

Isabelle gasped loudly and exploded into an uncontrollable fit of tears, sobbing and wheezing so much that John couldn't even see who she was anymore, and he didn't think she did either. The phone slipped out of Isabelle's hand and hit the floor hard followed soon by herself as her legs collapsed and she held her knees in tight- hugging them hard and rocking like a child. John felt like he should say something to comfort her but he had no idea what to say.

Isabelle stroked her cheek tenderly, as if it was the first time she realised how she got it and who did it to her- she realised in that moment that she was working for a monster, she saw Moriarty for who he truly was.

"I-I'm sorry!" she sobbed into her knees.

"That's no use now." John said softly, "I need your help, _please_."

"He'll kill me John."

"He won't find out-"

"Won't find out?" Isabelle laughed, "Of course he will if you just disappear under my watch!"

"I don't want you to help me escape." John sighed urgently.

"Then what do you want me to do?" asked Isabelle, confused. She'd wiped her face of tears and stood up slowly and carefully- gazing into John's eyes.

"Send Sherlock a message, tell Moriarty I agreed to do the video, but send me saying something else." John pleaded.

"What will you say?"

"That I don't want him to come after me, that's it's a trap and to thank him for trying to help."

Isabelle stared at him in pure disbelief. "After all you've gone through, you don't want him to come and save you?"

"Then he will die and all I've gone through will be for nothing Isabelle. If I live and he dies because he tried to save me, I won't have a life at all. He is my life. Without him there's nothing I want, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing it was my fault he's dead, my fault I let him die, I can't. That's loyalty Isabelle. If you don't feel like that about anyone then you haven't felt love like I have. I love him. I'm not afraid to say it because I love him like a brother, and _I can't lose him._" John cried.

Isabelle looked thoughtful for a moment, like she was debating in her head whether to agree to this or not, but John knew they were running out of time before Moriarty came back and this opportunity will cease to be.

"Isabelle, _please." _John begged.

"Okay." She agreed cautiously. John felt a huge rush of emotion wash over him and let out a small noise of what sounded like intense relief, Isabelle still looked uncertain and it worried John that she may suddenly change her mind and decide not to disobey her leader after all.

"Isabelle, thank you." John whispered happily, "Thank you, I wish I could help you get out of this place when this is over, but let's face it I'm going to be dead by then- just promise to get yourself out, go into hiding, change your identity but you deserve a better life than this."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew half the things I've done." Isabelle said softly. John raised his eyebrows as if asking her to explain. "Well for example," she started, "I killed that doctor that was treating Sherlock, to get him out the way so you could leave with me."

"Doctor Rhodes is dead?" John gasped. He watched Isabelle nod slowly before her eyes began to swell up with tears.

"I don't deserve forgiveness John, nor do I ask for it."

"But you're still willing to help me?"

"Yes. But we need to do it now; he'll be back very soon." Isabelle pulled a small bottle of water out of a bag she'd carried in, opened the lid and placed it on John's mouth and tipped slowly so he could drink from it. Once his thirst was quenched, John nodded and pulled his mouth away, licked his lips and smiled a little- it was amazing how good water could taste when you've been without it so long. Next Isabelle got out a small syringe, containing what was obviously morphine, the morphine John was promised if he sent that message to Sherlock.

The prick of the needle stung a little as Isabelle slid it into John's arm and injected him with the drugs that he'd been longing for for a long time, at least they'd ease his passing a little. He had considered begging Isabelle to overdose him, or kill him any other way just to ensure Sherlock's safety, however there was no way to do this without Moriarty finding out it was Isabelle responsible, and he didn't want to seal her to the same fate as his.

John sighed in both relief and bliss as he felt the painkillers beginning to kick in; he closed his eyes for a few moments, but was disturbed by a small cough. Opening his eyes, John saw Isabelle was ready with the phone in her hands, about to record.

"Ready?" she asked. John nodded and she began to film.

"Hey Sherlock. I know you're probably on your way trying to find me and save me, but I am here to ask, no, _beg _you to cease tracking me down and leave me here. It's a trap, I'm here as bait to lure you to Moriarty, and he will kill you- and me as well. There is no way I am going to get out of this alive Sherlock, no matter how hard we both try to think of one so don't throw your life away trying to save it. This is my choice, please respect that and know that it's okay; I'm okay and thank you for saving me in every other way. Don't blame yourself, live your life and if you can… remember me." John finished and hung his head sadly, if he'd said any more he may have started crying, and that would just make Sherlock more miserable. It needed to be brief.

Isabelle put the phone down, pressed some keys and placed it back into her pocket.

"It's sent." She said.

"Thank you." John murmured, head still dropped low to the floor.

"I'm going to stay here with you," Isabelle said whilst walking over to an empty chair and sitting on it, "Try and get some sleep? You must be exhausted."

John could feel his eyes begin to close, uncontrollably, and he hoped he never woke up.

…

What felt like minutes later, John's eyes snapped open out of sleep to the sound of harsh whistling bouncing off the walls. He knew exactly who it was of course. He also noticed Isabelle was still sitting on the chair in the middle of the room, legs crossed and back up straight but she stood up moments later once she too realised who was entering the room.

"So John, thought any more about my offer?" Moriarty chuckled.

Before John could answer, Isabelle spoke. "Actually, I finally managed to get him to do it, we've already recorded and sent the message- and I had to give him that morphine as promised."

"Really?" Moriarty asked, bewildered. Isabelle nodded and began to force a smile at her boss reluctantly, but was met with a glare of clear annoyance. Moriarty pulled out his own phone from his pocket and held it up to Isabelle's face. "You mean this message?"

Isabelle gasped as she witnessed the message being played in front of her. She began to violently shake in fear; there was no way to talk herself out of this mess. She whipped her head round to John's, who showed her a face of shock and guilt as he knew he couldn't do anything to help- and it was all his fault that she'd been caught trying to aid him.

"Do you really think I wouldn't check up on the messages sent?" Moriarty laughed. He laughed for quite a few moments, which ended abruptly by a piercing stare aimed at Isabelle who was avoiding his eyesight.

"It was my fault!" John insisted frantically, "Please don't hurt her it was me-"

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?" Moriarty sighed. "Yes John, a man tied up to a wall, half starved, half dead managed to threaten an armed woman into sending a message to his saviour for him? I don't think so."

He took a step closer to Isabelle. "Because of you, BITCH, I MAY NEVER GET TO SPILL ANY OF SHERLOCK'S BLOOD AFTER WEEKS OF WAITING AND PLANNING!"

She was clearly terrified. She opened her mouth to speak, but changed her mind quickly, and bolted towards the door. Just as John thought she may get out after all, Moriarty lunged forward and caught her with both arms wrapped tightly around her struggling body whilst she screamed and screamed and screamed. John stood helplessly, tied to the wall and cried at Moriarty not to hurt her, but Moriarty only grinned evilly in reply.

Then he placed both hands around her head and twisted sharply and a cracking noise filled the room. Isabelle's screams ceased and her body dropped to the floor heavily like a doll's.

Moriarty had snapped her neck, she was dead for sure.


End file.
